


Warmth

by KaskardenFluvia



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, What is Dead May Never Die, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 09:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaskardenFluvia/pseuds/KaskardenFluvia
Summary: “Cold.” The demon said wistfully, his face scrunching up at the word.“Yes, but why?” Aziraphale asked, gently shaking him to keep his attention.“Heating.” Crowley mumbled and Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “It broke.”---Set a few months after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Finally watching the show pulled me back into my obsession with these two, and this is the first result

“Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.”

“Crowley, it’s me again. Did I say something wrong? Are you mad at me? Please, call me back, I-“ He paused, struggling to find the right words, but ultimately coming up empty. “Just call me, please.”

Aziraphale put the receiver down again and sighed. He hadn’t heard anything from Crowley in two days, and it was slowly starting to get to him. It was a strange feeling, considering that a few years ago he wouldn’t have minded not hearing from Crowley for weeks or months even, but after everything that had happened in the last eleven years, it troubled him greatly. Somehow, he had gotten used to meeting Crowley a few times a week, going to dinner with him, or sharing a nice bottle of wine in the backroom of his shop. One time they had even gone to a McDonald’s for a particularly bad meal after Crowley had turned up on his doorstep in the middle of the night. (Aziraphale had already had one of the bottles of wine himself, otherwise he would have never agreed to this.)

This sudden and complete radio silence worried him more than he liked to admit. He let out another small sigh and stepped towards the window, looking out into the dark street, secretly hoping to see the Bentley turning around the corner, but the car was nowhere to be seen. Instead, all he saw where thick snowflakes drifting through the air, a thin blanket already covering all the flat surfaces outside. He smiled, having always enjoyed winter, he liked the peace that always seemed to come with the cold, and he liked to have an excuse for holing up in his bookshop for days.

The smile quickly faded when his thoughts drifted towards Crowley again. The demon had always despised winter and cold temperatures. He was a snake after all, even when his body appeared to be human most of the time. The cold always made him sleepy and easily irritated and he usually went out of his way to spend the winter somewhere else. Maybe that was why he wasn’t answering the phone, maybe he had simply gone on holiday, someplace warm, like the Mediterranean.

But surely, he would have told him, wouldn’t he? After the past few months, it seemed unlikely that Crowley would have just run off without telling him. He had been the one to call Aziraphale, he had been the one who invited him along for lunch or who turned up at the shop with a bottle of wine in hand. There was no doubt that he would have told him about his holiday plans, and Aziraphale couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that something wasn’t right.

He glanced over at the clock on the wall. Shortly after 9 PM. No too late to call a cab and check if Crowley was home. (He hadn’t decided what he would do if he wasn’t, but that was something he could worry about later.)

Ten minutes later he was standing in front of Crowley’s door. He rang the doorbell once. Then twice.

And then a third time. No answer.

“Crowley?” He called, gently knocking against the heavy wood. “Crowley, are you there?”

Again, no sound came from inside. Aziraphale frowned, fumbling in his coat pockets for the key Crowley had given him when he had first moved into the apartment. (“If you ever need a safe place to hide from your superiors.” He had said, grinning at him.) Back then he hadn’t seen any use in having a key to Crowley’s flat, but it proved incredibly convenient now. The door swung open as soon as he turned the key and he stepped over the threshold.

It was freezing cold inside, a shiver going to Aziraphale’s body all of a sudden. It had been cold on the stairway as well, but he had just assumed that it was not very well heated. That the flat was this cold as well was alarming.

“Crowley?” He called, scanning the large area that Crowley called his ‘living room’ for any signs of life. “Crowley, dear, where are you?”

He had only been inside the flat once, on the evening of the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t but he still remembered the layout. He hurried past the kitchen, not even bothering to glance inside, walking straight towards the bedroom instead.

He found Crowley curled up under what seemed to be every piece of loose fabric he had managed to scrape together, a motley bundle of blankets, bedsheets and bath towels. Aziraphale was pretty sure that he even saw one of the living room curtains in there. The demon appeared to be asleep, but he had a pained expression on his face and his breath was going slow and laboured.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale whispered and reached out, lightly shaking him by the shoulder, but there was no reaction.

“Crowley.” He repeated, grabbing both of his shoulders and shaking him again.

Slowly the demon opened one of his yellow eyes, a slit so small Aziraphale could barely see the colour.

“Angel?” He muttered, mouth moving ever so slightly.

“What’s going on? Why is so cold in here?”

“Cold.” The demon repeated wistfully, his face scrunching up at the word.

“Yes, but why?” Aziraphale asked, gently shaking him to keep his attention.

“Heating.” Crowley mumbled and Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “It broke.”

“When? Why didn’t you tell me, Crowley? You could have stayed at the bookshop.”

“Sunday. Said they would fix it immediately.” Speaking in almost full sentences seemed to drain all of his Crowley’s energy, his eyes quickly falling shut again. Aziraphale patted his cheek to keep him from slipping off into sleep again. His skin was stone-cold to the touch.

“Crowley, it’s Wednesday.”

The demon only groaned in response and Aziraphale sighed heavily.

“You need to get out of here. You need to warm up.” He said and started pulling at the small mountain of fabric.

“Warm.” Crowley whined, his hands digging into the fabric.

“We’ll get you somewhere warm, but you need to let go of the blankets first.” Aziraphale explained. He changed his tactic, trying to pull Crowley out from underneath the blankets. The demon hissed, desperately gripping the fabric with both hands.

In the end, Aziraphale had to carry him downstairs wrapped in a bath towel and one of the dark living room curtains, which he had absolutely refused to let go of.

The cab driver glanced worriedly at Crowley when Aziraphale carried him over to the car.

“Is he all right?” He asked, eying Crowley as Aziraphale tried to shove him into the backseat as gently as he could. He climbed in after him.

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said, letting out a small, embarrassed laugh. “Just a bad case of the flu. He will be just fine. Head back to the bookshop please.”

Getting Crowley out of the car proved to be even more difficult than getting him inside. Aziraphale had hoped that the car ride would maybe warm him up a bit, but now Crowley refused to get out of it again, holding on to the headrest for dear life until Aziraphale finally managed to pry his hands open.

He leaned down to the cab driver, who had stayed silent the entire time and wordlessly gave him a 100 £ note and the most grateful smile he could muster.

“Take care of your friend there.” The man said before rolling up the window and driving off. Aziraphale watched him go, one arm slung around Crowley’s waist to keep him upright and sighed. Hopefully, he would never see that particular cab driver again.

They shuffled into the shop, Crowley heavily leaning onto him for support, still wrapped in his curtain and bath towel. Once they were inside Aziraphale picked him up again, carrying him up the flight of stairs to the small bedroom above the bookshop. It would have been much easier to just lay him on the couch in the backroom, but the bedroom was more comfortable and, more importantly, it had a fireplace, which ignited as soon as Aziraphale set foot inside the room.

He gently put Crowley down on the bed, throwing the woollen blanket over him. The demon turned over onto his side, facing Aziraphale, though his eyes stayed shut. He reached out and placed a hand on his forehead. His skin was still way too cold, but definitely warmer than before.

He removed his hand from Crowley’s head and was about to leave when the demon suddenly grabbed his arm without even opening his eyes.

“Angel.” He mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Warm.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale answered and smiled. “I’m going to get you a hot water bottle. Make it even warmer.”

He tried pulling his hand away, but Crowley’s grip tightened, his nails digging through Aziraphale’s coat.

“Warm.” He insisted, tugging at his arm. “Stay.”

Aziraphale felt a rush going through him, his face heating up.

“With you?” He asked, voice unusually high-pitched. Crowley didn’t say anything, he just tugged at his arm again, almost causing him to topple over.

“I-I-I suppose I c-could stay.” Aziraphale stammered, not even sure why he was so flustered all of a sudden. They had been this close before, but Crowley drunkenly falling asleep against his shoulder was one thing, getting into bed with him something entirely different. But the demon didn’t give him much of a choice, his grip on Aziraphale’s arm only growing more painful the more he tried to wriggle himself free. He let out a nervous laugh and changed into his pyjamas with a flick of his wrist, before carefully climbing into bed next to Crowley, making sure to keep his distance.

His reaction was immediate, he finally let go of Aziraphale’s hand and shuffled closer to him, throwing his arm around him in a wide motion. Aziraphale let out an undignified squeal when he felt the demon bury his head into the nape of his neck, his breath cold against his skin.

“Angel.” He mumbled, his lips moving against Aziraphale’s shoulder, before he adjusted his position, pressing himself even closer to him.

“I’m right here.” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley let out a content hum.

He was asleep in a matter of seconds and Aziraphale turned ever so slightly to put his own arm around him, holding onto him tightly.

The purpose of sleep had always eluded him, but now he let himself drift off for the first time in years, the sound of Crowley’s slow and steady breathing quickly lulling him in as well.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a LOT longer than I anticipated it to be, but I enjoyed writing it nevertheless. I hope you enjoyed reading this.  
> I'm planning to do a follow-up chapter, though I cannot say when that's going to be up. 
> 
> If you find any mistakes, feel free to let me know!
> 
> (also, on the slight chance that even one of you has read my college au, I haven't completly abandoned that project just yet, I just had no motivation to edit the rest of the chapters.)


End file.
